We'll Always Have Broadway
by scully1138
Summary: "He recoiled violently as her nails raked across his face drawing blood, and he wondered briefly if there was any possible justification for kneecapping the First Lady of American Theatre." John and Harold are in for a very strange day when the Machine gives them the number of Broadway's most notorious diva. Disclaimer: I do not own Person of Interest or these characters.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Many thanks to Wuchel1 for the feedback, the fellowship, and for talking me down off the ledge so many times this season. I haven't jumped yet.

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We'll Always Have Broadway

Chapter 1

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"More show tunes, Harold? Really?"

John set down the hot tea and freshly-baked donuts and bit back a grin at the new stack of CDs on his employer's desk. It was chilly in the Library on this early spring morning, but as long as he could tease his partner - and have Bear there to greet him, nuzzling his hand for treats - he didn't really mind the cold.

"These are _research,_ Mr. Reese," Finch replied unruffled. "We have a new Number and you've probably heard of her."

Harold gestured towards the photograph of a flamboyant, middle-aged woman taped to the cracked board that was the focal point of their workspace.

"Dame Maggie Cortlandt - legendary Broadway icon and beloved star of classic musicals."

John nodded in recognition at the picture. Over the last few decades it would have been nearly impossible _not_ to have heard of Maggie Cortlandt. Her success on Broadway had led to a lucrative career in the music industry as well as several high-profile film roles. A few of her movies had even been screened for his unit when he was first deployed overseas.

"What's she doing in New York?"

"Returning to her roots. She's about to open at the Winter Garden Theatre - in a revival of 'The Sound of Music.'"

He had turned back to his employer to ask about possible threats, but the question died unspoken as a nearly-forgotten childhood memory of a fresh-faced Julie Andrews running down an Alpine hillside flooded his mind.

"Wait - isn't she…?"

"Fifty-seven," Harold replied blithely.

John could feel confusion rearranging his features. Finch's face, however, held more than a glimmer of amusement, as if the other man had been anticipating his bafflement. The ex-op had no real interest in theatre but it was a passion of Harold's, and he gave his partner an affectionate roll of his eyes while he waited for the billionaire to enlighten him.

"Certain performers have signature roles that they will always be associated with - Carol Channing in 'Hello, Dolly' for example. Or Yul Brynner in 'The King and I.' For Maggie Cortland that role is Maria von Trapp. And even though Miss Cortlandt has had more farewell tours than Cher, this latest revival is nearly sold out. The public loves her in this part."

John continued to eye the photo skeptically. While the well-preserved woman looked nowhere near her actual age, there was absolutely nothing in her worldly visage to suggest the innocent postulant at the heart of the famous musical.

"I understand they can work miracles with lighting these days," Harold offered helpfully.

Finch hit a key and John moved around to peer over the other man's shoulder as the actress's most recent appearance on late night television began playing on the laptop's screen.

Just crossing the stage of the Ed Sullivan Theatre it was clear that Maggie Cortlandt had a certain aura about her, that _je ne sais quoi _that so often accompanies celebrities and draws other people into their orbits. But there was something in her manner that commanded attention as well - a haughty grandeur and the supreme confidence born of many years in the public eye that served her well as she made innocuous small talk, shamelessly promoted her upcoming projects and flirted outrageously with David Letterman.

"Welcome back to New York, Maggie. This must be an exciting time for you with a new show about to open and your autobiography coming out soon. I'm looking forward to reading that."

"Well of course you are Dave. Everyone knows you've always wanted to get me between the _covers_…"

The audience tittered and applauded at her every _bon mot_ and roared their approval when the segment was over. There was certainly no denying the actress's popularity.

John plucked a donut from the cardboard box as he returned to his chair, leaning back thoughtfully.

"So who would want to kill her?"

"Quite a few people, I'm afraid. Despite her gracious public persona Miss Cortlandt has a reputation for being rather difficult to work with. She certainly has not endeared herself to her current cast and crew - the production has been in turmoil from the beginning. The show is on its second director and most of the supporting cast has turned over at least once. Maggie herself has fired three personal assistants and two more have quit.

"The Shubert Organization has tried to downplay all of this because they're heavily invested in this revival and can't afford any bad press. They've catered to all of the woman's outrageous personal demands - even an extensive remodeling of her dressing room - because without Maggie Cortlandt there is no show."

Harold cut short his analysis with a small frown, and John followed his eyes to the fine coating of powdered sugar now adorning his suit jacket. He straightened in his chair and brushed away the offending powder but the billionaire had already turned back to his screens, not quite managing to hide an indulgent smile.

"This show has become the theatrical event of the season and all the publicity surrounding it has pushed several other promising productions into the background."

"Rival producers then? You think the competition might be targeting her?"

"It's certainly a possibility. In any case I believe it's time that we give our regards to Broadway."

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Maggie Cordlandt's name - emblazoned in lights above the title of the show on the Winter Garden's massive marquee - was visible from blocks away. Dozens of people milled around the entrance vying for last-minute tickets or hoping to catch a glimpse of the iconic actress, and there was a sense of eager anticipation for the evening's big performance.

They skirted around the crowd to the side of the theatre and slipped in through the stage door.

The production appeared to be functioning in a state of organized chaos. A tech rehearsal was underway, the sound of hammers echoed from backstage as last minute adjustments were made to props, and the juvenile actors playing the youngest of the von Trapp children were huddled in the back of the theatre receiving some last-minute advice from the show's acting coach.

Harold seemed entirely in his element as they wound their way through the wings - pointing out details about the sound design and the complicated fly system that hoisted lights and scenery high above the stage. John tried to take it all in but this was his partner's world, and rarely had he felt so out of place.

"Hey, are you guys blind? Get out of the way!"

They jumped back just in time to avoid getting flattened by a large backdrop being wielded by a burly hulk of a man who was now glowering at them from beneath a sweat-soaked brow.

"Morons," he proclaimed to no one in particular as he lumbered off with the heavy piece of scenery.

"You'll have to forgive him. That's Jeremy Bronner. He's the production's head carpenter, and we're all under a lot of pressure right now."

They turned in the direction of the voice and a dapper man - fortyish with a thinning hairline - approached them and shook Harold's hand firmly.

"I'm Otto Beringer, director of this jovial crew. And you must be Mr. Wren, I presume?"

The man's face reflected equal parts determination and a hellish kind of stress, but he greeted them cordially nonetheless.

"You do realize that this is our final dress rehearsal before we open tonight." A note of gallows resignation crept into his voice. "Well it's supposed to be anyway. Maggie is insisting on some last-minute wardrobe changes before she'll come out of her dressing room. The costume designer is in with her now."

He led them towards a freshly painted, unmarked door. Unhappy voices could be heard rising and falling behind it.

"We understand that you're busy of course," Finch said with genuine sympathy. "And we wouldn't dream of interrupting you except for a matter of the utmost urgency. We believe that Miss Cortlandt's very safety is at stake."

Just than the dressing room door flew open to reveal the wardrobe mistress, red-eyed and clutching Maria's second-act wedding dress. She slammed the door behind her and fled without looking back at the men.

"Is there anyone who doesn't want to kill this woman?" John muttered so that only Harold could hear.

"If you ask me, Maggie Cortland is more than capable of taking care of herself," Beringer said wryly," but you might as well go ahead. We're not accomplishing anything here right now."

Otto paused to give instructions to a waiting intern, took a quick call from the publicity department and signed an autograph for a visiting VIP. There was an almost military precision to the director's command of the production that John could actually relate to.

A pretty brunette in her early twenties approached them and Beringer greeted her warmly.

"This is Kylie Hunter, Ms. Cortlandt's personal assistant - and the production's official 'diva whisperer,'" the director said with a touch of awe. "Honestly I don't know what we would do without her."

"We're all just doing our part to put on a good show," she responded modestly.

There was something about her voice that belied Midwestern roots, and she radiated a wholesomeness that suggested she was far too nice for her job.

The stage manager pulled Otto away and whispered frantically in his ear.

"If you'll excuse me now I'll leave you in Kylie's capable hands. I have to take a meeting with some very nervous investors." The man appeared to have aged years in the few moments they had known him, yet there was something indefatigable about the director as well.

"Your job appears to present a unique set of challenges," Harold said to the girl as Beringer strode away.

She took his meaning and smiled.

"Maggie isn't quite as bad as people make her out to be - as long as you know precisely how she likes things and carry out her wishes exactly as she demands them.

"Actually the producers are paying me double the normal rate for this job. I'm getting married in a few weeks and the extra money will really come in handy."

Piano scales were being played inside the room now, and a husky voice struggled to accompany them.

"Hi sweetheart!"

A young blonde man with model-good looks slipped his arm around Kylie's waist and the girl beamed at him.

"This is my fiancée Jake."

"Jacob Hale. I saw your name in the press release. You're playing Rolf, the delivery boy who romances Liesl."

"I didn't think I had a chance when I auditioned, but I got the part - and the girl." The young actor kissed Kylie's hand and then looked at them intently.

"Are you the fellows from _Variety_? Because I can have the PR department get in touch if you if need a head shot or some of my reviews. I received some very nice notices for my work in _Grease_…"

"Sorry, no. We're actually here to see Miss Cortlandt."

"I've got to run anyway. The choreographer is changing my number _again_. See you later, okay?" He gave Kylie a quick kiss on the cheek before turning back to the two men.

"It was nice to meet you both. And good luck with the Gorgon," he called as he walked away.

Kylie shook her head in exasperation and Harold chuckled, leaving John to raise a curious eyebrow.

"The Gorgon, also known as Medusa, was a mythological creature so hideous that her very gaze was said to turn men to stone. Let us hope that young Mr. Hale was exaggerating."

The barely-recognizable strains of the beloved title song were now leaking from the dressing room. Kylie rapped on the door cautiously, but the knock was either unheard or simply ignored.

She knocked again, more firmly this time. The tune stopped abruptly and a decidedly unmelodic voice began shrieking from inside the boudoir.

"How many times must I tell you people not to interrupt me when I'm getting into _character_!"

And as the door was wrenched practically off its hinges John unconsciously nudged Harold out of the Gorgon's line of sight.

He needn't have worried. Dame Maggie Cortlandt had eyes only for him.

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A/N: So much exposition! I hope you're enjoying the story so far anyway. Things are about to get very strange for our boys in the next chapter. As always, your comments and reviews are greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

We'll Always Have Broadway

Chapter 2

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The startlingly familiar face of Maggie Cortlandt glared at them from beneath a fur-trimmed turban, her leopard-print caftan flowing out behind her. But the actress's expression transformed as she cast her eyes on John, who was still standing directly in front of the door. Decades of playing to the balcony had long since robbed the diva of whatever subtlety she had once possessed, and she took her time giving the ex-op a lustfully appraising look.

Harold was fully stunned. He was well aware of the effect that John had on people, but nothing had prepared him for the outright lewdness this harpy was now directing at his partner. Indignation roiled up inside of him as John shifted uncomfortably under her lecherous gaze.

"Good day, Miss Cortlandt. My name is Harold Wren. I'm here representing Universal Heritage Insurance."

He extended his hand, forcing her attention away from John, and she dissected him with a piercing gaze.

"Our company is underwriting this production and the investors have requested that we provide you with additional security. Has anyone - "

"Did my agent send you? Because you can tell that coward I haven't touched a drop in months."

Kylie dropped her eyes to the floor but the comment drew a loud snort from Jeremy, who was lumbering by with "The Lonely Goatherd" marionette show in his arms.

"What? No. We're here solely for your protection. Are you aware of anyone who might want to harm you?"

"Harm me? _Harm me? _Do you even know who you're speaking to?"

The woman's voice was shrill with outrage and she advanced on him with surprising menace, her face ablaze with fury.

John was standing next to him and Harold felt the ex-op tense, preparing to intercede. He placed a hand on his partner's arm to hold him back as the actress continued her tirade.

"I placed higher than Betty White on _People Magazine_'s list of most beloved celebrities. My public adores me."

She flicked her hand at him as though he were a gnat to be shooed away, and a wave of anger threatened to break through Harold's normally ironclad composure. They had dealt with difficult people before - in situations far more perilous than this - and it was rapidly becoming a matter of pride not to let this insufferable diva get the better of him. He fought to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"Miss Cortlandt we have reason to believe that you're in danger and our information is never wrong. Now, has anyone threatened you or made you feel apprehensive in any way?"

"Well the Sultan of Brunei recently tried to acquire me for his harem, but lately I've been altogether too smitten with the most exquisite cabana boy I picked up in Rio…"

John was now staring at the woman as if she were a train wreck impossible to look away from, and Finch was increasingly glad he hadn't admitted that he had seen nearly all of the actress's shows. That was one theatrical experience he would definitely not be repeating. Nonetheless he made a final attempt to get through to her.

"Can you at least tell me if you've noticed anything out of the ordinary lately?"

This, however, had the unfortunate effect of directing her attention back to John, and she perused him again with a rapacious gaze.

"You certainly don't see someone like him every day. I think we could have a…memorable time together. According to the Sultan I'm only just now reaching my _peak..._"

Harold simply couldn't summon a response to that comment, and in truth he was finally ready to admit defeat. The situation was completely unsalvageable. They would have to do their best to protect the incorrigible woman from a distance. An extremely safe distance.

"Very well then. Please let either Mr. Rooney or me know if anything suspicious occurs. In the meantime we will endeavor to stay out of your way."

"Oh, on the contrary. I expect this divine man to make himself right at home."

Maggie's fingers locked around John's wrist with surprising strength and - with a startled look back at Harold - he was abruptly yanked into the dressing room. The door slammed shut with a definitive thud. Finch stared at it dumbfounded for a moment before reaching for his phone.

"Miss Shaw? Please meet me at the theatre immediately. I may need your help with an extraction_._"

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Before John could protest Maggie locked the door and turned the deadbolt with a flourish. But more disconcerting still was her expression when she turned back to him - her face gleamed with the unnerving anticipation of a hyena about to devour its prey.

A quick assessment of his surroundings revealed no other exits, just a rack of colorful costumes arranged along one side of the room and a series of shoulder-length brunette wigs lining a lengthy and brightly lit vanity. The deep-pink walls were covered with dozens of photographs of the actress posing with other Broadway luminaries, and a vintage baby grand piano occupied the far corner.

Dominating the room and conspicuously placed at its center was a massive, high-back chaise lounge richly upholstered in gold silk shantung. A crystal ice bucket rested on a mahogany side table, and Maggie had already turned her attention to a chilled bottle of _Perrier-Jouet_.

The champagne's cork ricocheted off the wall of the acoustically perfect room with a loud _pop_, and Harold's panicked voice was instantly in his ear.

"What's happening Mr. Reese? John? Have you been shot?"

"I should be so lucky," he replied, although he was more than willing to consider the possibility that the unstable actress might actually be the perpetrator at this point.

He tried to move further away from the woman but massive floral arrangements from friends and well-wishers were everywhere, their fragrance overwhelming the room. John fought back a sudden wave of nausea as a glass of champagne was pressed into his hand.

Maggie was sashaying around the boudoir now in a manner he assumed was meant to be a seductive but which struck him instead as alarmingly spastic. He dodged the diva's clumsy attempt to wrap her arms around his neck, but she laughed this off as coyness and reached for a tiny remote.

Music began to play as the lights slowly dimmed around them. John recognized the CD - _Cortlandt Sings Sinatra_ - from Harold's research earlier in the day, and he sighed as the diva's throaty voice filled the room.

_Strangers in the night exchanging glances, wondering in the night what were the chances we'd be sharing love before the night was through…_

She beckoned him towards the chaise with her claw-like hand, and John turned away to address his partner through their private link.

"I know you said your Machine was evolving, Harold, but you never mentioned that it had developed a pretty warped sense of humor."

"I understand that this situation is…unusual Mr. Reese, but please just do the best you can."

_Something in your eyes was so inviting, something in your smile was so exciting, something in my heart told me I must have you..._

John took a deep breath and sat down cautiously on the edge of the chaise. He had infiltrated espionage networks, fought insurgents and helped topple hostile foreign governments. Surely he could handle one seriously delusional actress.

Couldn't he?

"Good. This is so much better, isn't?" She clanked her champagne flute against the one he'd forgotten he was holding.

"Perhaps you saw my latest movie, _Enchantress of the Nile_. I played Cleopatra. Powerful men found her irresistible…"

Bony fingers began unfastening the buttons of his shirt and John squirmed in embarrassment against the lounge's padded backrest.

"Ms. Cortlandt there has obviously been some misunderstanding. I'm here to protect - "

Her hand snaked out and grabbed him by the back of his neck, pulling him towards her. He recoiled violently as her nails raked across his face drawing blood, and he wondered briefly if there was any possible justification for kneecapping the First Lady of American Theatre.

He settled instead for tapping his earpiece.

"Harold? I might need some help here," he whispered urgently. There was no response. "Finch, are you there?"

His heart sank a little when he realized that their connection had been severed. Surely Harold didn't expect…?

John jumped as Maggie ran her fingers through his hair so roughly it felt as though she taken part of his scalp with her. A sick feeling formed in the pit of his stomach as she removed her turban and graying hair fell in clumps around her face.

Something about Medusa having snakes for hair crossed his mind, but before he could dwell on the image there was a furious pounding on the door - followed by Harold's most vehement voice.

"Mr. Reese! What do you think you're doing? Come out here at once!"

John didn't need to be told twice. He unlocked the door and bolted through, nearly knocking over Shaw in the process.

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Harold stared at his disheveled partner with dismay. Thin welts were starting to rise on John's face where the Gorgon had scratched him, his hair was a tumultuous mess, and bright red lipstick spoiled the collar of his normally crisp white shirt.

"Well at least it isn't blood this time."

He tried to lighten the mood with a bit of humor, but he was keenly aware that John was regarding him with undisguised relief in his eyes.

"You had me worried, Harold. When I couldn't reach you I thought that you wanted me to…"

"_John!_"

He was unable to keep the horror out of his voice.

"There are certain things that I would _never_ want you to…expect you to do in the line of duty."

Harold stopped short of confessing that he had just added himself to the long list of people wishing to do bodily harm to the lascivious actress.

Maggie was now standing in the doorway observing them, but Harold didn't give her the opportunity to speak.

"Further analysis of this situation has led me to conclude that a different approach to your security would be more effective. This is Miss Shaw. She'll be handling the more personal aspects of your safety."

Finch braced himself for whatever tantrum the diva might unleash, but instead of protesting Maggie merely appraised Shaw with the same intense scrutiny that she had subjected John to. Shaw returned the evaluation with an even more brazen look of her own - it was almost a dare - and then threw in a little pirouette for the Gorgon's approval.

After a long, surreal moment the actress shrugged and disappeared into the dressing room, with Shaw right behind her.

The men cringed in unison as the deadbolt snapped loudly into place.

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A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who left a nice review. I was feeling a little insecure about this story, so it's very reassuring to know that it's working. I hope you all continue to enjoy it!


	3. Chapter 3

We'll Always Have Broadway

Chapter 3

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_So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, goodnight…_

The young actors portraying the Von Trapp children were rehearsing their act two exit song. Harold would have been enjoying it more if _Gretl_ hadn't crushed his foot during a race through the backstage area, nearly knocking him over and riling his old injuries in the process. He rubbed his sore neck and scanned the wings.

Shaw and Dame Maggie were observing the number as well, chatting it up and acting like long-lost friends. The occasional glance in his direction invariably brought about a burst of conspiratorial whispers and laughter from the two women, but at least the diva wasn't stirring up more trouble.

During the previous scene Maggie had insisted on adding some extremely salacious moves to the quaint folk dance performed early in the second act by Maria and the captain. A monumental confrontation with the choreographer had erupted, _Captain von Trapp_ had stormed off the stage with his boyfriend, and most of the cast had fled to avoid being hit by the props which had been flung around the set by the frenzied actress. The subsequent shouting match between Maggie and Otto Beringer had brought the proceedings to a standstill yet again, and the rehearsal had only just resumed.

"I brought you a present, Finch."

Harold turned to examine his returning partner. He had sent John home to get cleaned up after his disastrous encounter with the Gorgon, and the ex-op had obviously showered and put on a fresh shirt - his hair was neatly combed again as well. But the angry red scratches the actress had inflicted on John's face stood out conspicuously and Harold became furious all over again as he stared at them.

Which apparently he was doing more intently than he realized.

"It's all right, Harold. They won't leave a scar." John placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "No serious damage was done I swear. And this is to thank you for saving me from a fate worse than death."

He placed a souvenir Maggie Cordlandt doll - adorned in Maria's modest first act nun's habit - next to the laptop where Finch had arranged his makeshift workplace and sat down beside him with a familiar smirk.

"Are you suggesting we take up voodoo, Mr. Reese?"

"The thought never crossed my mind."

Harold smiled in spite of himself, though he was still profoundly upset by the morning's appalling debacle - and shaken by the lengths to which his partner was apparently willing to go for the sake of their little crusade. They _really _needed to have a talk.

But as he watched the ex-op examine a prop _Luger_ with far more curiosity than it really warranted, Harold had to admit that John seemed just fine - and for that small grace he was profoundly grateful.

Plus there was still the critical - though increasing repugnant - matter of the Number to protect.

"I'm afraid I haven't made much progress in narrowing our list of suspects. Jeremy Bronner - the gracious construction boss - has worked on several shows featuring Miss Cortlandt but he has no known criminal past. The wardrobe mistress hasn't stopped crying but she hardly seems capable of masterminding an assassination. Almost everyone involved with this production has just cause to dislike our diva but they also have a vested interest in her success - their employment depends on it. And there's nothing in my analysis of the other theatre companies to indicate that any of them are behind the threat."

He paused to touch his earpiece.

"Yes, Detective Fusco?"

"I may have something for you. Take a look at this."

The forwarded page opened on Finch's laptop to reveal a 6-month old blurb from the _Post_'s gossip column along with a photo of Maggie Cortlandt departing Sardi's restaurant - on the arm of Jacob Hale.

"I guess we know how Jake got his part." There was no humor at all to be found in John's voice.

"A _liaison_ between Maria and Rolf? I highly doubt that Rodgers and Hammerstein ever saw those two characters in quite that way."

Harold attempted to shut out the queasy image that was attempting to materialize in his mind.

"At least we have a clearer picture of the threat now. I believe that Mr. Hale's regard for Kylie is sincere. And from what we know of Miss Hunter I'm also convinced that she would find it difficult to forgive such an unsavorydalliance. Jacob would have every reason to want the affair kept secret - and something tells me that Dame Maggie is hardly the model of discretion."

John considered this.

"If Maggie were murdered while Jake was onstage in front of hundreds of people he would have a perfect alibi, but he would need an accomplice in order to pull it off."

Harold flipped through the show's program.

"_Rolf'_s musical number - Jake's big moment - is in the first act, so the attempt will likely happen then. I'll ask Miss Shaw to stay close to Jacob while we try to determine the identity of his partner-in-crime."

"Until that time, Mr. Reese, I'm afraid…" He let his voice trail off unhappily.

"All in a day's work," John replied, managing to sound both game and remarkably unconvinced at the same time.

Harold watched his partner maneuver towards the back of the theatre where Maggie was now engaged in a rabid discussion with the lighting director.

"I have eyes on her now, Finch."

"Just as long as she keeps her hands off of you, Mr. Reese."

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"I said I wanted a _pink_ follow spot!"

The actress was screeching at the perturbed technician as he approached, and John marveled once again that the woman had lasted this long without someone trying to kill her.

An electrician climbed into the fly space high above the stage and scurried along the rigging to cover the offending lamps with the appropriate gels.

Kylie was attempting to calm the mercurial diva - and with some success it appeared. Maggie had recovered her normal hauteur, and she now directed a condescending glance in John's direction.

"I'm going out for some fresh air," she said coldly. "Come along or not. It makes no difference to me."

He trailed the actress through the theatre's lobby, holding the ornate door open for her as she passed through without acknowledgement. He shrugged and followed her outside.

"Ms. Cortlandt! Are you ready for opening night?"

"Is there anything you'd like to say to your fans right now?"

John recoiled as a half-dozen TV crews began rolling and a paparazzo shoved a camera within inches of his face. The Gorgon gleamed at him triumphantly as she began her press conference.

"What's the mood backstage, Maggie? Is it true that the cast isn't getting along?"

"Nonsense. There's no truth to any of the rumors. This is one of the happiest productions I've ever been a part of. We're all like family now."

John tried to duck back into the Winter Garden but Maggie had both hands clamped painfully around his forearm, and he winced as her nails dug into his flesh.

"Give us the scoop Maggie. Who's your new friend?"

A crowd had quickly gathered, and now the mob of fans and tourists were wildly snapping pictures of the two of them as Maggie roughly patted John's cheek and pretended to fawn over him.

"This handsome devil is John Rooney." Her voice turned wildly suggestive. "He's been taking care of all my _needs_ while I prepare for the new show."

The microphones were suddenly pointed in his direction.

"_Hey John! How long have you been dating Maggie Cortlandt?"_

"_Will you be escorting her to the Tony Awards next month?"_

"_Are there wedding bells in the future for the two of you?"_

She released him then to sign an autograph, and he unceremoniously fled back inside the theatre.

As he made his way backstage he nearly collided with Jacob, who shot him a deeply commiserating look. John felt a sudden burst of empathy for their would-be killer.

It was just that kind of a day.

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A/N: Today's chapter was a little shorter, I know. Tomorrow's chapter is longer though, and there is also an epilogue to follow.

Thank you once again to everyone who has taken the time to read and review. I really do appreciate it very much!


	4. Chapter 4

We'll Always Have Broadway

Chapter 4

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The Winter Garden was packed for Maggie Cortlandt's triumphant return to Broadway - even the standing room was sold out - and the excitement of the audience was a tangible presence as the orchestra began the familiar overture.

Fusco had been summoned to the theatre and provided with a choice seat in the orchestra section where he would be ideally situated to surveil the audience. Lionel looked even more uncomfortable in this environment than _he_ did John thought, as he watched the plump detective make his way to the center of row M - drawing irritated looks from the previously seated patrons as he squeezed through.

Finch was standing off to one side where they would continue their own search for Jake's cohort, and John joined his partner there as Maggie prepared for her first number. Through the stage they could see Otto in the opposite wing, pacing nervously as the curtain rose to reveal _Maria_ standing alone on the beautiful Alpine mountain set.

_The hills are alive with the sound of music, with songs they have sung for a thousand years…_

John had to give her credit. The actress was almost pulling it off, and her adoring fans were more than willing to meet her halfway.

Even more surprisingly, Maggie was behaving like a true professional now that the performance had begun. The seasoned crew functioned like clockwork, the show was progressing without a hitch, and there were frequent pauses for enthusiastic applause after each beloved number.

But _Rolf's_ big scene was next and they were no closer to identifying the accomplice. John checked in with Fusco - who still had nothing new to report - and scanned the backstage area once again for any indication of the imminent threat.

"Harold, where is Shaw? Do you still have her watching Jake?"

"Oh I've done much better than that, Mr. Reese."

A mysterious smile - one that John had come to know well - crept across the billionaire's face as Shaw's voice cut in.

"When this is over Finch, you and I are going to have a long talk."

"Please turn off your phone now, Miss Shaw. We wouldn't want it to interfere with the theatre's sound system."

The line went dead and John looked to his partner for some explanation of this latest intrigue. But before Harold could answer the lights came up on the next scene, and a confused murmur passed through the audience at the appearance of a new _Liesl _on stage.

Jake gaped as well at the sight of Shaw in a delicate chiffon dress, her hair tucked demurely behind a white headband. "Understudy" they saw her mouth to the stunned actor, who somehow managed to recover enough to begin the number.

_You are sixteen going on seventeen fellows will fall in line, eager young lads and roués and cads will offer you food and wine…_

Shaw was clinging to Jake's arm, seemingly enraptured by his every note as they strolled around the little gazebo that comprised the set for this scene. In the opposite wing the apoplectic director could be seen gesturing hysterically as he bellowed into a wireless headset.

_Liesl_ was now entwined around _Rolf_ in a somewhat alarming fashion as they carried out their musical flirtation, but Jake gamely soldiered on.

_Totally unprepared are you to face a world of men, timid and shy and scared are you of things beyond your ken…_

John was no expert but he suspected that Shaw's interpretation of this unworldly young girl was probably a bit more _predatory_ than usual. Nevertheless her performance was kind of mesmerizing, and the audience was definitely with her as she began her vocal.

_I am sixteen going on seventeen I know that I'm naïve, fellows I meet may tell me I'm sweet and willingly I'll believe…_

Her singing voice was surprisingly good, a pleasant mezzo-soprano that complimented the popular song.

_I am sixteen going on seventeen innocent as a rose. Bachelor dandies, drinkers of brandies, what do I know of those…_

Shaw actually seemed to be enjoying herself now and - perhaps sensing the audience's approval - began improvising some rather interesting choreography as Jake struggled to keep up with her unique dance moves.

_Don't play with your food Shaw, _John thought as she dragged the flustered actor around the set.

Engrossed in the number, he startled as Finch shouldered past him - with a high-definition digital video camera focused squarely at the stage.

Harold shrugged off his bemused look.

"She's really quite good, isn't she?"

There was an unmistakable note of pride in the billionaire's voice, and John chuckled as he returned to his co-worker's oddly compelling performance.

"Ouch!"

He reeled in pain and surprise only to discover Maggie Cordlandt regarding him with an imperious smirk and a dismissive wave of her hand. The First Lady of Theatre had just helped herself to a decidedly mean-spirited pinch of his posterior.

John looked back at the stage in irritation as it became clear that Shaw planned to continue on as Liesl in the next number, the "My Favorite Things" scene. It would be up to him then to follow Jake. Well, at least they would have plenty to talk about.

But there were more bewildered rumblings from the audience as they realized that the pivotal scene was missing its most important component - _Maria_.

And as a wrathful voice - most familiar in its timbre but stunning in its ferocity - cut through the air, John understood exactly why Dame Maggie had missed her entrance.

Harold Finch had finally had all that he could take.

"You are _never_ to place your filthy hands on my partner again. Is that clear?"

Maggie Cortlandt stood at least two inches taller than the billionaire, but Harold had somehow managed to pull himself up and now seemed to tower over the actress. He continued to lambast her vehemently.

"There will be no more of your inexcusably lascivious behavior. It ceases _now_, Miss Cortlandt."

The normally chaotic backstage area had fallen into a stunned silence and Maggie herself had gone mercifully mute. Otto was pleading desperately with them as the orchestra vamped to cover the delay, but Harold was nowhere near finished.

"If you place one more scratch on him… If you so much as _look_ at him again…"

John leaned against a pillar and watched the scene with fascination and an absurdly broad grin - Harold's performance was even more satisfying than Shaw's. He just might learn to enjoy the theatre after all.

He was distracted by a glint and a movement in the fly space directly above the now-cowering actress. Sparks flew from a torch that was methodically separating a large metal grid - and its eight attached lamps - from the surrounding frame. Jeremy Bronner's face was clearly visible in the flickering light.

"I would advise you not to cross me on this - or I swear I will throttle you myself!"

Harold was nose-to-nose with the diva now, forcing her back a step and inadvertently taking her place directly below the massive rig as it ripped away from the frame and began plummeting downward with impossible velocity.

John threw himself at Finch with all his might, clearing him out of the way and landing on top of him. Harold looked at him in astonishment but the gaze lasted only an instant before his head slammed into the hard concrete floor, knocking him out cold.

Blood was oozing from John's leg where the sharp metal had knifed through his calf but the pain barely registered as he watched the color drain from his partner's face.

"Harold, can you hear me?"

The older man lay terribly, terribly still.

John placed a trembling hand on the side of his partner's neck, refusing to move it until he detected a faint, erratic pulse. He slipped his hand around to the back of Harold's head. There was no blood but a massive bump was already forming there.

"Say something, Finch. Talk to me, Harold. Please."

Little _Gretl_ brought him her _Hello Kitty _blanket and as John tucked it around the billionaire he realized that his partner's breaths had grown shallower still.

He took one of Harold's frighteningly cold hands in his own.

Somewhere in the background Maggie was screaming, the audience was booing, and the orchestra was playing a maniacal version of "The Lonely Goatherd." John looked around frantically for help and his eyes fell upon an eerie portrait of the masks of Comedy and Tragedy hanging by the green room door. A chill passed through him as the masks stared down at them, their mocking faces seeming to portend an ominous end to this otherworldly day.

"Oh God, Harold…no. Please. Not like this…"

One of the grips ripped a first aid kit off the wall and offered John a vial of smelling salts. He crushed the ampule and held it under Harold's nose, his other hand still clinging to Finch's.

There was an almost imperceptible gasp, a small stirring - and then Harold's hand tightened around his.

"_Don't look in its eyes, John…"_

"Harold!"

Finch's eyes fluttered open slowly at first, then blinked rapidly against the harsh stage lights.

"Is that you, John?"

Harold struggled to sit up and John slipped an arm around his partner's shoulders, sliding around to let the other man rest against him.

"Are you all right, Harold?"

"I believe so Mr. Reese, but I had the most horrific dream. You were fighting a Gorgon…"

"Something like that, yes," John chuckled, relief flooding through him. "But it's over now."

He looked over at Fusco and the detective gave him a nod as he pulled Jeremy Bronner's arms behind his back. And while Lionel snapped the handcuffs around the surly man's wrists, Otto hustled a dazed Maggie towards the stage. For better or worse the show would go on.

John gently placed Harold's glasses back on his face and helped him to his feet as the detective approached.

"Hey! Tell me I didn't see you on _Access Hollywood_ today."

If ever a question were begging to be ignored, that was the one.

"What about Jacob? Were you able to pick him up?"

"There was no need to. Bronner confessed to it all. He planned the whole thing after Cortlandt threw him over for the Hale kid. And your girlfriend's a piece of work too - she's been blackmailing Jake to continue their affair even after he got himself engaged. I don't think the poor guy ever had a chance once he got mixed up with that barracuda."

John felt another stab of sympathy for the unfortunate young actor but before he could consider it further his phone crackled to life.

"What is it Shaw?"

"Don't you two even think about leaving before my curtain call."

.

A/N: Thank you once again to everyone who has continued reading and reviewing this strange little story. I would especially like to thank my guest reviewers - you know who you are! - who I am unable to thank in person. Your continued support is appreciated very, very much.

I've also missed the bits of humor that POI used to do so very well, and if this story helps fill that void in even the tiniest way then I am extremely gratified.

There is a brief epilogue coming to wrap up everything. Thank you once again!


	5. epilogue

We'll Always Have Broadway

Epilogue

.

The cool night air was a welcome reprieve after the suffocating confines of the theatre. John's eyes kept returning to Harold, but the other man was steady on his feet and seemed to be suffering no lingering effects from the frightening blow to his head.

John evened his pace with his partner's, and as he favored his wounded leg he was amused by the fact that - for the moment at least - they now had matching limps. Somehow it seemed like the perfect ending to a spectacularly strange day.

They rounded the corner and peered across the street at the theatre's stage door where an excited crowd had gathered. Cheers and applause filled the air when Shaw stepped outside to sign autographs and pose for pictures with her new fans.

"You know if she gets good reviews we'll never hear the end of it," John pointed out.

"It doesn't really matter. I'm afraid that Miss Shaw's theatrical career will be cut sadly short once the real Liesl is discovered zip-tied in the prop room."

John raised an eyebrow in alarm at this rather nonchalant statement, and Harold hastened to clarify.

"Rest assured that I'll text the actress's location to the theatre manager as soon as Miss Shaw is done with her photo-op. It just doesn't seem right to deprive her of her moment of glory."

Finch paused to snap a few photos of Shaw and her devotees, and John took the opportunity to make another surreptitious check of his partner's well-being. Harold caught him though, before he could look away, but didn't reprove or even tease him for his concern. Certain things were simply the way of the world now.

"Gentlemen! Please don't leave before I have a chance to thank you."

A jovial Otto Beringer jogged across the street to join them.

"Congratulations," Finch said. "It would seem that the show is a bona fide hit."

"I think it's safe to say that tonight's performance will never be forgotten by anyone who witnessed it," the director replied, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

"But we're actually shutting the show down for two weeks. Jake has left the cast - probably out of embarrassment if he has any sense - and we're going to start rehearsals with a new leading lady."

John wasn't sure he really wanted to know the answer, but he asked the obvious question anyway.

"What happened to Maggie?"

"It seems that all of today's drama was too much for her. Ironic, don't you think? I'm sure her agent will issue the standard press release about 'creative differences.'"

The man looked like the weight of the entire Winter Garden Theatre had been lifted from his shoulders.

"She's currently in her dressing room euthanizing herself with Tanqueray," he added a bit too cheerfully.

"Will you be holding auditions for a new Maria?" Harold asked.

"That won't be necessary. It turns out the perfect person has been right here all along!"

The director could barely contain his enthusiasm for this new actress - and he made no attempt to disguise his relief at finally being rid of Maggie Cortlandt. John knew _exactly_ how the man felt.

"There you are. I'm so glad I didn't miss you!"

Kylie Hunter slipped between them and took Otto's arm.

"The theatre is full of surprises, isn't it?"

She gave them a mischievous wink, but the lovely young woman was glowing and it was very easy to picture her as the exuberant young nun who captures the heart of a strict Austrian naval captain. It was quite clear that she had already won the heart of her director.

"I'm very happy for you Miss Hunter," Harold said warmly. "I'm sure you will have a long and fulfilling career. Best of luck with your new endeavor. Take good care, Mr. Beringer."

"Thanks again, fellows. Break a leg! Or not," the flustered director called back as the men limped away.

Something a little rueful in his partner's voice had caught John's attention.

"What's the matter, Finch? Are you regretting the road not taken?"

Harold looked at him quizzically.

"In another life would you have liked to have been an actor, to have been on stage?" John teased.

The suggestion brought very different images to their respective minds, though both men rapidly reached the same conclusion and with nearly identical smiles.

"Clearly not. And I think we've established that a life in the theatre can be nearly as hazardous as our line of work - though today's events do bring to mind the words of Sir Francis Bacon:

"_In this theatre of man's life, it is reserved only for God and angels to be onlookers_."

"I suppose that's as good an explanation as any for why we do what we do, why we try to save people," Harold mused.

"Even the Maggie Cortlandts of the world?"

"Even them."

They were both grinning broadly now. The day was already starting to seem funny - by tomorrow they would probably find it hilarious.

John felt an unexpected sense of contentment as he recalled what would always be his favorite memory of the day - that of a gallant Harold Finch, righteously defending his honor to the monstrous Gorgon.

Years of abuse and betrayal at the hands of his former employers flashed before John's eyes - and then seemed to fall away as he considered his partner's latest quotation.

"We're obviously not gods or angels."

"Indeed we are not, Mr. Reese."

"And I'm not an onlooker anymore either."

His voice was quiet, almost shy even to his own ears, and a moment passed before Harold met his forthright gaze.

"Definitely not, John."

"Never," he added emphatically. "Never again."

Rather than being awkward the ensuing pause felt like the most natural thing in the world, and they walked on in silence through the thinning crowds beneath the festive lights of Times Square until Harold shivered as a cold wind cut through brisk night air. John turned his body to shelter the smaller man from the sudden gust.

"We should get inside. Are you hungry Harold? There's a diner around the corner…"

"Actually John, how would you feel about carry-out back at the Library? I'm sure Bear is wondering what's become of us."

Harold offered him a small, knowing smile.

"After all, we'll _always_ have Broadway."

.

FIN

.

A/N: Well, that's the end of our story, complete with a happy ending just like a good Broadway musical! Thank you once again for reading, and I would like to wish everyone a happy and healthy new year!


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